Hot Cross Buns
by Mug of Doodles
Summary: Friends catch up on more than schoolwork after MacCoy misses a week of school. MoCoy  whatisthisidonteven


**This is like...a crappy oneshot my mind shat out. I hardly worked on it.  
>Next up, a polished MoCoy smutfic and angsty fight thingy.<strong>

**Disclaimer: I dont own the characters in this fic, blah blah, they belong to Harmonix and such.**

MacCoy missed a whole week of school, due to some flu he obtained, probably picked it up from sharing sports bottles with other guy's on his team, and had homework out the ass that he needed to finish. For an entire week he had to listen to his Grandma scold him about germs while accusing him of kissing all sorts of girls.

Silly Grammaw, her grandson wasn't particularly interested in any girls at the school, even if he found them nice to look at. He had his eyes set on someone else, somebody that was way more rad than any chick.

So, while everyone else was out pumpin' it up on a weekend or getting laid, this poor shmuck was stuck at school making up "Food Labs" for his Food Science class. The class had absolutely nothing to do with science and everything to do with food, which is the main reason why the geek joined.  
>Well, that, and the fact that all his fan club attended this class and most of them were hot chicks that swooned over him. A guy could never go wrong with that. He loved attention regardless of the gender it was rooted from.<p>

His teacher was a kind woman but stepped out of the classroom to "run some errands", but she was missing for an exceptionally long time and he doubted that she'd return. After all, nobody wants to spend their down time at a high school on a Saturday.

The blond huffed in frustration, clouds of flour puffing into the air and dirtying his goggles. He groaned, removing them from his face to clean them. He was temporarily blinded but when he snapped them back in place he was surprised to find another body in the room. The Russian was suddenly giddy by the discovery of the presence of the added company and felt the need to impress.

His heart would always beat at an irregular tempo and his body felt like it'd overheat when he saw this person. This guy saved his ass on more than one occasion; he was the one that had miraculously become his best friend. He was his idol and he adored him, practically worshipped the ground he walked on.

He was everything MacCoy couldn't be, at least thought he'd never live up to.

The two hardly found time to chill together anymore; Mo was always so busy with making sure his grades were perfect and ushering scholarships into his pocket while MacCoy was busy trying to keep up with him.

They were _always too busy_ trying to make their dreams come true, but MacCoy wouldn't have minded pausing to enjoy life with Mo every once in a while.

He now thought that existing wouldn't have been so hard if his passions, which were old skool beats and breaking, didn't consume all of his time. One thing that he found unfair was the fact that Mo was able to juggle all his academics, extra-curricular and _still_ find time to earn a name for him on the street, in a good way of course.

Everybody knew who _Flash_ was.

But nobody cared about _The Real Deal_.

"Hey, Mo. Sup?" he tried to seem nonchalant and smooth, but that was so not his style. He sounded more like an overly eager fan boy than anything, his accent a bit thicker than usual.

'_How long has it been? A week?'_

The hooded dancer flashed him a cheeky smile and greeted him, turning the usually over-confident locker into a metaphorical pile of goop on the tiled floor. MacCoy busied himself, trying to keep his mind off the other's utter kick-awesomeness and how much he missed his hero. He leveled another cup of flour with shaky hands, turning off the eggs and sugar creaming in the bowl.

"What'cha doin'?" Mo inquired, strolling around the desks to the countertops the flustered B-boy was working on.

"Makin' a cake.I got all this shit ta make up and I hafta stay here. The bitch wouldn't let me do it at home." MacCoy complained, easing flour into the bowl.

The other chuckled, "Prolly thought yer '_Gramma'_ would do it. Speakin' of which…she kept _pinchin'_ me every time I went ta visit."

MacCoy groaned and remained red from the ever-growing embarrassment of being a Grammaw's boy, but was happy that his friend at least tried to see him.

The tagger placed his hand on a slightly quivering back, suddenly so unbearably close to MacCoy, "Need some help? It'll be like old times."

MacCoy swore that he'd pay attention in church next Sunday if this torturing would end.

Turning to glance back at the door he mumbled a, "Nah. I don't wanna fail if she comes back and sees ya doin' all the grunt work."

Mo laughed, "That trick left an hour ago."

Joy flourished inside his being, feeding the happy butterflies in his stomach and he relished the fact that he'd made Mo laugh, twice even! Shit was flying pretty sweet so far.

Until he realized that he was going to be stuck here forever if he didn't get his head out his ass. The blond resisted the urge to bang his head on the counter in frustration," It's been an hour? Fuuuuck."

The older male hummed in confirmation and his smile broadened when the annoyed Russian grumbled out a, "Fine. Ya can help. What'cha doin' here anyways?"

"I'm finishin' pages fer yearbook. I mostly jus' stroll 'round though. I swiped the janitor's keys and all," he bragged and jangled them in front of the other and MacCoy gushed. He bursted into sentences about all the awesome things they could do—all the shit that would get them in trouble.

"We could sneak inta the auditorium and…" MacCoy continued rambling on, making large motions with his arms that were accompanied by the cutest faces of excitement.

Mo flushed; his mind replaying the possibility of having the other bent over a desk or pressed against a marker board—pale, freckled ass squeaking against the white wall as Mo pounded into him. He briefly wondered if his friend even had freckles down there before catching himself, suddenly wishing he didn't wear such tight pants.

The other was pouting at him again and whining, asking if he was even listening. He wasn't.

Suddenly filled with courage he moved forward and pinched the blonde's cheeks, "Yer so adorable, even fer a white boy."

MacCoy felt his heart flutter at the compliment and from the overwhelmingly amazing contact he earned from his new idol. He attempted to play it off by saying that Mo had cooties and rubbed at his cheek, but he was still determined to suck out any other sort of attention from the other that he could.

MacCoy finished mixing the batter in an awkward silence, at least on his part—Mo was calmly watching him perched atop the counter. He thanked Mo for all his assistance, however minor it may be, like sifting and 'clean-as-you-go' help.

Mo jumped down, the hood so low over his eyes now that MacCoy could only watch his lips pull into a grin as he spoke, "Ya know how ya can repay me?

"Hm?" Coy asked, crouching to place the pan in the oven, hopeful the other would ignore his studies for once and want to grab a pizza with him

But what came next was better, _so much better_, than a greasy and over-priced slice of cheese pizza.

He felt something tug him backwards by his belt, "By makin' sure I get a piece of that pretty, white cake."

MacCoy froze, feeling like prey suddenly, because _what if this was just a prank_?  
>The B-boy was notorious for them.<p>

Mo fiddled with his fingers because of 'Coy's silence and the giddy toprocker bit his lip in worry of how to respond. Mo's anxious digits kept accidentally swiping over smidges of flesh and his pal felt heat pool in his lower belly. He didn't know exactly how the nerdy downrocker had meant those words and he didn't want his best friend to abandon him because MacCoy ruined their friendship by flirting—and _meaning it._

He started to clean up wordlessly, almost wishing Mo would leave now, and the tension was thick now— like smoke burning his eyes and nose from the searing hot feeling in his belly.

While the younger was preoccupied with cleaning up Mo opted for easing the tension and started a food fight, he was more than willing to pick up after getting back on good terms with his childhood homie. He tapped the locker on his freckled cheek with the batter-laden rubber spatula, smearing cake mix on his cheek and the Russian baker stared at him in shock before busting out into a wild grin.

The two lunged at each other with balls of flour in their fists, struggling around headlocks and grapples, to mush flour on the other person's face. Mo had MacCoy tight around the waist, gripping the hem of his zippered polo. What seemed innocent to him sent the other over the brink of intensity and MacCoy purposely fought back weakly as Mo snuck a fist under his shirt, mushing flour over his chest. He couldn't hide; no matter how hard he fought, arching into the contact with a gasp.

This confirmed the now elated Mo's suspicions about why the cocky dancer turned into a bumbling idiot around him. He wanted to _hear_ the other admit how he felt though. Call him a romantic, but the boy wanted the shy mumblings and rosy nose and cheeks. He wanted it all.

White powder suddenly balled up and fluffed over Mo's hood and he laughed, not breaking away in time. The top of his hood caved in and some of the fluffy powder rimmed his eyelashes and he clutched at his eyes screaming.

Guilty, the other rushed to him, frantically rubbing a dishcloth at his eyes, "I'm sorry, Mo, I'm sorry."

He felt like an idiot until Mo's cackling started up again and smacked him in the side of his head. Flour coated the shell of his ear and he heard Mo dying from laughter in front of him, clutching his stomach and leaning on his knees.

"I got'cha good, man."

"Stupid. I thought I hurt my idol," he pouted, punching the other slightly.

"Yer idol, huh? Ya never told me ya thought of me _that_ way," he teased.

The blond realized he slipped and blushed, "Ah yeah, my dancin' idol. Yer moves are sick. I wish I had moves like ya." He did a dorky jig to emphasize his point.

Mo stepped closer, "Ya sound like a hard-core fan, like ya worship me, homie. Ya got a shrine 'a me too?"

The Russian backed away suddenly, guilty as charged, and he cursed under his breath when his lower back smacked against the counter. He let out a faux scoff, "Pft, no."

Mo closed in on him, hands on either side of him and blocking his escape, "I bet ya hide it from me when I come over, huh? I guess I ain't bein' _thorough_ enough."

"Ya-shit. I don't…ahh," the blond stuttered.

Mo snickered, his hood shifting as he shook his head, "Not right now of course. Jus' whenever yer ready fer me."

"Whenever I'm rea—what?" The hamster tripped and then started running backwards.

The dark-skinned tagger was satisfied with himself because somehow Angel's advice actually paid off and he believed to have the flustered toprocker's heart melting

Despite the dusky shadow the hood casted upon the upper portion of his face he was tenderly studying MacCoy. The red-faced boy looked like he was about to faint, his lower lip trembling, he shivered a moment and Mo knew the perfect way to still his body. A large part of his being wanted to know if he could still grab the boy's attention if he acted more like himself, less like the ladies' man that Angel was.

He murmured out a soft "chill" as he reached out to cup 'Coy's cheek. His smile grew as the Russian's eyebrows twitched, his cheek heating warmer than it already was. Pressing their foreheads together, grinning madly when he heard 'Coy suck in a breath, and let his lips graze the others.

_He loved the power he held over MacCoy._

Teeth clacked together as lips clumsily pressed to his, he let out a squeak of surprise when MacCoy hastily pulled him closer after being knocked back by the others fervent advances. He pushed the eager teen back slightly, the retro dancer overwhelming him a bit, and he frowned at MacCoy's bewildered, almost teary-eyed expression. The poor kid probably though Mo was pulling another of his infamous pranks.

Hooking an arm around his friend, pulling him flush against him, he kissed him softly—one hand fingering the band of his goggles. MacCoy sighed when Mo's hand slipped down to his lower back, rubbing tiny circles there, occasionally teasing the skin underneath. The downrocker traced his tongue along 'Coys bottom lip and everything suddenly felt so heavy and surreal to the both of them. He forced his tongue into the others mouth, instantly seeking the others, and the blue-eyed geek wriggled in delight.

They parted for air for the third time and MacCoy, as always, was the first to speak, "That ruled!"  
>Mo simply nodded, still floating down from cloud nine.<p>

Pale hands reached to bunch back striped fabric while teeth dug into a kiss-swollen bottom lip, whole body driving the powerhouse towards the counter.

"'Coy? Man, what'chu doin'?" he asked fearfully, his hoodie unzipped with the other splaying fingers across his chest. Mo gulped, boldness flown out the metaphorical window when the glare bounced light off his friends goggles in a strange way.

He spoke through curled lips, "Imma clean ya up buddy. Yer all filthy."

Mo gulped when 'Coys mouth descended to his neck, lapping up rogue batter. His B-boy was making odd, highly unnecessary noises to match a couple bites and continued until a bright mark was left. He lifted his head to smile at a dumbstruck Mo, leaving his neck with a wet smooch.

Studying his puffy lips and disheveled hair, Mo seriously reconsidered what he really wanted from life.

"We fo sho gotta make mo' time fer each other."

_MacCoy loved the power he held over Mo._


End file.
